The Second Half (23 page)

“Read mine first!” Jake waved it in the air. “Grampy, cut it open.”

Ken did so and with Jake on his lap read the letter. Steig had written in big letters so Jake could help read it.

Jake held the letter in both hands. “I want to read it.”

“I'll help you later. You know some of the words. But now let's read Mellie's.”

“I can read my own.”

“Of course, read it aloud.”

She laid her letter down in her lap and looked up at Mona. “Can we write another letter to him? Even if they can't find him, when they do, there will be letters for when he can read them.”

“We most certainly will. In fact, I think we should do a letter a week, and we'll put them in a package to surprise him.”

“Now read your letter, Grammy.” Jake grinned up at her.

Mona leaned over and tweaked his nose.

Ken checked the postmark. The letter had been mailed over a week before, but he still had no idea where it was from, as it had the military stamp on it.

He pocketed the letter that had just his name on it as Mona did hers.

“He wrote to us! Bet he doesn't have cell service. Can we go on a bike ride now?” Jake asked as he slid to the floor. “All of us on our own bikes.”

Ken reminded him, “That means we won't go as fast or as far.”

“I know but I want to ride, too.”

Ken looked at Mona, who gave a faint nod.

“Let me get something planned for supper; I forgot all about it.”

“Hot dogs!” He bounced up and down.

“No! Not hot dogs again! Something else.” Mellie paused on her way to the stairs. “Can I go read while you decide?”

“What would you like for supper?” Mona looked at the three of them.

“Anything but hot dogs.” Mellie took the stairs up two at a time.

“Fried chicken,” Ken said. “And I'll go get it when we get back.”

“Sold.” Mona gathered up the letters and put them back in the envelope. “I'll be ready in five minutes.” She headed for the stairs, knowing what she really needed was a few minutes alone, and the only place where that seemed to happen anymore was in the bathroom. She paused at the bathroom door, then went on to Mellie's room.

“I heard you sniffling. What's wrong?”

“The date on the letter. It is way
before
those men came and told us Daddy is gone. Jakey thinks he wrote; he did, but it was…when he was still…when we still knew he was…”

“I understand what you're saying. Yes, the letters were mailed before he disappeared.”

“So he…” Mellie shuddered a huge sob. “But Jakey thinks…”

Mona took Mellie's hands in hers, her left hand and the right hand holding a crumpled letter. “Mellie, please don't pop Jakey's bubble. He's happy for the moment. This has all been as hard for him as it is for us. Will you let him be happy for a moment?”

She sighed and nodded. “I won't explain to him.”

“And I suggest you don't throw your letter away, even if it's old.”

Another sigh, miles deep. “Oh, I won't. Grammy, I'm sure he's dead. I just know he's dead. And this is the last thing I'll ever have from him.” Her face looked not just sorrowful, but despondent.
Dear God, she has given up hoping.
And how could Mona offer any when she wasn't sure of it herself?

Mona patted her hands. All she could say was, “Good girl.”

She hurried to the bathroom, shut the door behind herself, and flipped the lock. Staring into the mirror, she blew out a breath, and, arms propped on the sides of the sink, she let the tears come.
Lord God, help Mellie. I cannot. And Lord, save my son. Please, Lord, save him and bring him home to us. Only You know where he is. Guard him as only You can do.
She washed her face in cold water, grabbed a headband from the drawer, and fitted it in place.
Please, Lord God.

S
ome things hit like the proverbial ton of bricks or an earthquake, but some things sneak up on you like a vicious hunter stalking its prey. The attack caught Mona by surprise.

“But Lord, I thought we beat this thing.” She fought to open her eyes to see the new day, but the effort was too great, let alone getting out of bed. Instead of fighting, she sank back into the darkness.

“Mona, I'm taking the kids to their swimming lessons. I told them you were feeling sick.”

She nodded. Sick didn't begin to cover it. Would that she were throwing up and her heart was dancing an erratic Zumba. Instead of this heavy infusion that deadened not just her limbs, but her mind. Only her tear ducts seemed to work as she felt tears leaking back to her ears. Turning over felt high as a mountain peak, and she could no longer climb. Surely she had nodded—hadn't she? At least she could hear, since that took no visible effort.

Ken had suggested the punching bag, but she really had thought she could beat this monster on her own. After all, she could recognize the symptoms.
Stupid pride.
Short of grieving a son still MIA, fearing and desiring the preschool project, taking on two grandchildren, and her husband retired and gung ho to travel, could that all be sufficient trigger? At least her mind was working again, not like two or three hours ago when she usually got up.

The next thing she knew Ambrose leaped up on the bed and sat pawing her arm, one whine per swipe. Ambrose never got on the bed without an invitation. She felt Ken sit down on the edge.

“Okay, how can I help you?” His voice was gentle.

He used to go off to work; he rarely saw me like this. Or did he ever?
She forced her eyes open.

“Are you taking your antidepressants?” he asked.

“The pills don't kick in right away. I feel so groggy. There were nightmares, like I didn't sleep all night but kept running from something, not even sure what.”

“You were sound asleep when I got up; not even the coffee fragrance roused you.”

She scrubbed her fingertips through her hair. “I need a shower, perhaps that will help.”

“I'll start it.”

She wanted to yell at him to go away, but she knew he was trying to be helpful. Instead she stumbled into the bathroom. Standing under the beating water helped. At least coffee sounded palatable now. Once out, instead of blowing her hair dry, she just pulled it back with a hairband, settled a sundress over her head, and slipped her feet into summer sandals. Makeup was not an option.

“I hope you made this extra strength,” she muttered.

“I did. That's why I'm drinking iced tea. I'm going out to work in the garden, but I'll fix you something to eat first.” He shook his head when he saw her grimace. “You need protein. I'll put those leftover strawberries over cottage cheese, how does that sound?”

“Thanks.” She watched as he set the bowl with a piece of peanut butter toast on a tray. He added a glass of iced tea.

“Come on, you're eating outside.”

Obediently she followed him out the door. The sun felt warm on her back as she settled at the table with an umbrella. Dutifully, she picked up the spoon and took a bite of her meal, whatever meal of the day it was. She loved summer strawberries, and cottage cheese always tasted good, but this time she had to force herself to swallow it, using a swig of coffee as a chaser.

Feeling Ken's gaze on her, she looked up.

“What is it, Mona? What has sent you into a tailspin like this?”

Tears instantly clouded her vision. “He's not coming back. They say Steig is MIA, but it's been a week and he's not coming back.”

“You don't know that, only God knows that. Why give up when we don't know?”

“Ken, it has been almost two months since we heard from him. If he were alive, he would have contacted us by now.”

“We got those letters.”

“All written before he disappeared. I tried punching the bag, but all I got was sore arms. How can I—we keep on going if our son is dead? Surely I would know; somehow my mother's heart would know, and I think that is where this came from.”

“Maybe you give up this easily, but I will not believe he is dead until I bury his body at the cemetery. We say we trust that God is in control. What has happened to your faith? You say you trust Him.” Ken twirled his glass in the ring of water that had run down its sides. He looked back up at her. “We cannot give up! Not today, not tomorrow, not until we have actual proof. And we have to keep up hope for those two children who are in our care.”

“Speaking of the kids, where are they?”

“They got back from their swim lesson, and now they're at Marit's. She's concerned about you, too. She says you need to go see your doctor.”

“I have an appointment for a mammogram on Friday, and my yearly physical is next week. Soon enough to see her.” She ate a bit more of her food. It didn't taste quite so much like crumpled newspaper. Perhaps being out in the sun was helping. Or maybe talking with Ken was helping. “When are they coming home?”

“After swim lessons tomorrow. They asked to spend the night. And yes, they have their jammies and such.”

She felt so out of it. Life was proceeding normally and she wasn't. “How are your plans coming for the trip?”

“Still checking on events in Chicago. I'm thinking we could do one trip in July and perhaps a few days up at the fishing cabin in August. We can take the canoes up, too. Marit said maybe we can all go up there for a week or at least a few days. Magnus will be in Norway for a week or ten days, and we could go then. You have always loved it up there, too.”

“I know.” But right now the idea of planning and packing seemed beyond possible. “What dates are you thinking for the Chicago trip?”

“I want to go during the week, not on the weekend. I'm thinking the third week. We'd drive there on Monday, one day for the Museum of Natural History, one for the zoo, and another for the aquarium. They opened a new exhibit,
Wild Reef
, several years ago. I'd like to see it. I'm looking at the event calendars to see if something else might be appealing.”

Mona ate some more and drank her coffee. The peanut butter toast had sufficient crunch to make her mouth happy.

“So the kids won't be home tonight?”

“No. It'll be just us. How about we go work in the garden for a while?”

“I think I'll go deadhead the pots and the front yard; maybe I'll get some more ambition.”

“The leaf lettuce is big enough for salad for supper. I'll pick and wash, and you make that dressing that's so good.”

Even before Mona could finish up the deadheading, Ken handed her a lovely washed leaf of lettuce as if it were a royal present. The first of the produce of their garden deserved a special celebration.

“Are the radishes ready, too?” Mona nibbled on the lettuce. “Sure beats anything from the store.” She picked up her bucket of spent blossoms and took it over to dump on the compost heap. She hadn't finished, but it looked better and she felt better. Maybe if she'd just gotten up and outside this morning, she might have felt better then, too.

But thoughts of Steig bombarded her again as she made her way into the house.
Lord, You said You'd protect our son. Whatsoever we ask in Your name. But now he is MIA, and I know the only one who knows where and how he is is You. This walking in the
unknown is horrendous. I cannot bear it.
With each step, she felt the weight of the cloud push her downward, like a pile driver on a riverbank. Leaden feet, leaden heart, leaden soul. Once inside, she collapsed on a stool at the counter.
Breathe!
came the voice from within.
Breathe!
She did as commanded. Once, twice, three times. As she felt the tension leave her shoulders, she felt herself straighten, and with the next breath, her shoulders let loose of her earlobes and a lightness of being trickled in through the cracks like sun seeking entrance through the tiniest tear in the drapes.

She got up and fetched the vinegar and sugar from the pantry. She set the ingredients on the counter and paused for another breath.
Steig loved this salad, this dressing, this time of year, Lord above, this life.
He cannot be dead. God, would I not know if my son were indeed no longer of this earth?

Blindly she poured the ingredients in the jar, tightened the lid, shook it, and set it on the counter. Carefully. Precisely. “My son is not dead. He might be missing in action, but he is not dead.”

She removed the chicken breasts from the refrigerator, poured Italian dressing in a plastic bag, and added the chicken breasts. Supper for just the two of them. Ken could grill them all, and she would make chicken salad with the leftovers. Who was Ken talking to outside? Glancing out the window, she saw their neighbor from across the street. He and Ken used to go fishing together. Perhaps they could again.

With supper preparations under way, she headed upstairs to check her messages and clear some things off her desk. Strange she'd not heard from Carole Bergstrund on the preschool project. They'd said they'd get back to her. Should she call or just wait?
Call.
She located their number, tapped it in her cell, and hit cancel. The timer downstairs was blaring.

Mona woke that night with tears soaking her pillowcase. After mopping her eyes and flipping the pillow over, she drifted back to sleep, praying the nightmares would not return with their clouds of sadness.

The alarm made her jump. She hit snooze and rolled over. Ken was already up, the coffee said so.
Go back to sleep, get up.
At least when she was sleeping, she couldn't think.

“Come and get it!” came from the foot of the stairs.

“Coming.” How could he sound so cheery?

Ambrose met her at the foot of the stairs, as if he'd not seen her for days. Hyacinth, tail straight up but for a slight bend at the tip, preceded her into the kitchen.

“I see your court is in place.”

She petted the dog and picked up the cat. “Can we eat out on the deck?”

“Yes, of course. You grab the coffee mugs, I'll put the rest on a tray.”

Set up on the deck, she sank into one of the cushioned seats. Sunlight slid between the leaves and branches of the maple tree to dapple the fresh green grass.

“Thank You, Lord, for food, for Your provision, and for taking care of our Steig. Bring him home to us. We thank You and praise Your name.”

Mona sniffed and added her amen.

“Did you bake the muffins?”

“I did.”

“You made the muffins?”

“Well, Betty Crocker and I or whoever created the box.”

Mona shook her head, took a muffin, and passed the basket. She sniffed it. “Orange?”

“I guess. It said I could add walnuts, but I couldn't find them, so I put in pecans.”

Mona shook her head. “You know there is a bag of muffins in the freezer and another of biscuits?”

“No, but I shall look next time.”

She took a bite of the scrambled eggs. “What did you put in these? Delicious.”

“Half-and-half.”

“I cheerfully turn over breakfasts to you.”

“Not so fast, this was an experiment.”

As they sat sipping their second cups of coffee, she leaned back to look up through the branches. “We need to eat out here more. Thanks.”

Just as Ken picked up the tray to return things to the kitchen, her phone sang. Her heart leaped in
what if…
then settled back into regular rhythm.
Marit.

“How come you didn't return my call?”

Guilt stabbed her. “When did you call?”

“Dad didn't tell you I called?” Her voice danced with accusation.

“He said you were concerned and that the kids were staying overnight at your house.”

“Are you sick or…?”

“Felt like it, but I'm better now.”

“Get real, Mom, the depression is back.”

Mona felt herself stiffen. “I'm dealing with it.”

“When do you see the doctor?”

“Next week for my physical. Aren't you being a bit overbearing?”

“Someone better.”

A soft answer turns away wrath. This didn't sound like Marit. “Okay, what's bothering you?”

“Probably the same thing that is bothering you.” Marit did an audible inhale. “Sorry, Mom, but you're scaring me. You can't go down like last time, not with the kids here. They're worried about you—well, at least Mellie is.”

“What happened?”

Her voice dropped. “I'll tell you later.”

“They're there now?”

“Uh-huh. Talk later.”

Mona laid her phone back down. Marit was right, Ken was right, they were all right.
Don't let the depression get to you.
Far easier said than done.

“What did she want?”

“To yell at me.”

“Marit doesn't yell.”

“Felt like it. You didn't tell me she wanted me to call her back.”

“I told you she called.”

“Right. I just realized I have a mammogram this morning. What's on your agenda?”

“Woodshop, fishing with Bert this evening. Thought I'd take Jake along, Mellie if she wants to go.”

“Thanks for breakfast.”

At nine, she left a message for her doctor, asking for a renewal of meds. At ten, she checked in at the radiology center.

“We have the new machine in place,” the nurse bubbled. “This is so much better than our other—3-D technology, they say it reduces callbacks by ninety percent. We can detect cancer far sooner. We've been waiting for this.”

“I hope it doesn't squish like the old ones.”

“Well, you have to admit our other machine was far more gentle than a few years ago.”

“True.” Mona stepped into the changing room and slid out of her blouse and bra.
Just get it over with.
No one liked to be flattened between the plates. Even so, digital beat the old way.